


if you can’t fix it, you’ve got to stand it

by lesbiyawn



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Arthur learns to accept his bisexuality, Bisexuality, Bittersweet Ending, Homophobia, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Racism, Warning for Homophobic Slurs/Offensive Terms, it focuses on Arthur’s realization and his coming to terms, the Arthur/Charles and Arthur/Albert is important but it’s not the main focus?, with help from Charles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-12
Updated: 2019-08-12
Packaged: 2020-08-19 17:44:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,434
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20213758
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lesbiyawn/pseuds/lesbiyawn
Summary: “I ain’t sure. . .I don’t like being confused, Charles.”He lets out a heavy sigh, his shoulders drooping with it.“I feel even more stupid now. I should know this.”“It’s not an easy thing to know.”Coming to terms with your sexuality is never easy. It’s especially trying when you’re a middle-aged man in 1899. Fortunately, you’ll find you’re not alone in your feelings.





	if you can’t fix it, you’ve got to stand it

**Author's Note:**

> May recognize some of the journal entries - a few are based on actual in game entries with some additional pondering added on. 
> 
> Warning for homophobia and racism: the scene with Micah includes some offensive terms.

_Helped Mr. Mason take another picture - this time of wild horses - and he gave me a beautiful print of one of the wolves that nearly ate him. _

_Funny how I keep running into that fool. Even funnier how I keep helping him. I suppose I can’t help it. I’ve never been one for charity but _ _I guess I can appreciate his cause. He’s got a real interesting way of looking at nature. _

_There’s just been this little thing eating at me. Something that’s been getting harder and harder to ignore. I get all nervous, sweaty palms and the like. Real stupid stuff. _

_Used to get it with Mary, when we was young. It makes sense with her - she’s a lady, one I still got feelings for, more the fool I. _

_But I’ve been getting that same feeling, or _ _something like it, with that Albert feller. It don’t add up. I guess I- _

“Arthur!” 

Arthur jolts, nearly dropping his pen. He looks up to see Sean strutting over to him, hands gripping his belt. He’s laughing. 

“Oh! Can’t believe I startled the mighty Arthur!” He’s grinning, glancing down to the journal in Arthur’s hands. “Too busy writing in your diary to notice little old me?” 

Arthur huffs, quickly scribbling away the last few paragraphs. Maybe he’ll find something to sketch over them or slip the picture of the wolves in its stead. 

“Yeah, yeah, something of the sort.” He slides the journal back under his mattress and stands. He matches Sean’s stance with greater poise: hands more relaxed on his belt, shoulders less tense. 

The action is subtle but enough to make Sean falter in his gait. 

“Well listen,” Sean says, “if you’re done swooning in that little book of yours, Lenny and I was thinking of running a little gig. He thought you might wanna come along. Y’know, to make sure us fuck ups don’t fuck it up.” 

“Lenny ain’t a fuck up. You, on the other hand.” 

“Oh what would I do without your words of reassurance, dear Arthur!” 

“End up on a noose, most likely.” 

Sean cackles. “Aye, I suppose you’re right.”

“Care to tell me what this little gig is? I don’t care much for going in blind.” Arthur says. 

“Got some intel about a wagon coming up from Saint Denis. We was going to pay it a visit near Flatneck Station, maybe put on a show for the sods before robbing them blind.” Sean still wears his grin. “So, you coming with, old man?” 

Arthur sighs and grabs his hat from his table. “I guess I am. I have to see this ‘show’ you two are planning on. What have I got to lose?” 

“Only your life, I wager.” 

“Only that.” 

. . . 

A few days later sees Arthur dishing out a bowl of stew while Sean recounts their robbery over dinner to Javier and Hosea. The two had been out on a homestead robbery and had missed the first epic retelling Sean had given the camp. 

“Oh you shoulda seen the look on their faces! I thought the man was gonna shit himself!” Sean stands, faking a look of horror. “‘_Oh Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, Madeline! We’ve killed a man!_’” 

He furrows his brows and adopts what Arthur presumes is supposed to be a feminine voice. “‘_What do you mean_ we _killed a man? You were the one with the reins you old coot!_’”

“She was one tough old broad.” Lenny says to Arthur’s left, waiting to grab his dinner. He starts dishing it out as Arthur steps away, taking his first spoon full. “I was starting to get worried the whole thing would turn south ‘cause of her.” 

“Aye!” Sean says. “And it probably would have if it wasn’t for our man Arthur!”

Lenny gives a laugh and nods his head. “You did kind of save the day, Arthur.” 

Arthur harrumphs and takes another spoonful, leaning against a tree.

“What’s this about?” Javier asks. “What’d he do to save the day?” 

“Well, technically, _yours truly_ saved the day.” Sean grins. “But Arthur played a good villain. See, while the couple was supposed to be fussing over dear dead Lenny, Arthur was meant to rob the coach. Problem was the broad didn’t care enough ‘bout Lenny and noticed him right away!” 

Lenny laughs and Arthur shoots him a glare. “Then I really got worried that we were going to have a _real_ dead Arthur. The woman pulled a gun on him so fast she’d given any of us a run for our money.” 

“So how did you manage to save our favorite dimwit?” Hosea asks, leaning forward on the log. 

“I channeled the fighting Irishman in me!” Sean says. “I clocked our Artie right in the jaw and acted like I was saving them from some no good criminal.” 

Arthur is reminded of the punch with a sting as he bites down on a starchy piece of potato. 

He hears Javier laugh loudly, Hosea’s chuckle a bit more subdued but nonetheless still there. 

“‘Twas glorious.” Sean brags. “And now we finally know who’d win in a fight between the two of us.” 

Arthur can’t stop the laugh from leaving him. “You keep on believing that, boy.” He looks to Hosea. “I was supposed to be watching over the whole thing, making sure nothing went wrong. Then the two of them decided to let me do all the hard work, as usual.” 

“I’m surprised you let the mick lay a hand on you.” 

Arthur feels the mood sour as Micah sits himself down by the fire. By the looks on the other men’s faces, he isn’t the only one feeling that way. 

Sean doesn’t let the insult bother him. Arthur feels a burst of satisfaction and hint of pride, though he’d never let Sean know. “You don’t have to worry about me, my dear friend. Your smell is enough to keep me away at all times.” 

They all laugh - Hosea included - and try to cover it up as coughs when Micah shoots daggers at them - Hosea not included. 

“You think that was funny, old man?” 

“That I did.” Hosea says, seemingly unfazed by the unnerving look in Micah’s eyes. “Sean can be a nuisance but he’s got a few good one-liners.” 

Micah laughs at nothing in particular. “I could kick your frail ass just as much as I could kick his.” He throws his head back at Sean. 

“I’m sure you could.” Hosea says flatly. 

Micah grunts and opens his mouth before spotting Javier sitting beside him. 

“I know this pansy wouldn’t put up much of a fight either.” 

“Is that so?” Javier answers. 

“Yeah, it is.” Micah says. “I bet you hit like you dress. All femininely.” 

When Arthur sees Javier clench his fist around his spoon he leans off the tree and slowly walks closer to the fire, eyes shifting between Javier and Micah. 

Micah must notice Javier’s annoyance, too, as he chuckles. “Nah, I take it back.”

The glint is his eyes is enough to tell he’s far from apologizing. 

“I’ve seen Karen throw a punch. Women can hit better than you. You hit like a fairy.” 

Javier stands abruptly, bowl clattering to the ground, soup seeping into the grass. His hand has already pulled the knife from its sheath, pointing it directly at Micah. 

“Wanna test that out, fucker?” 

Micah only laughs in response. “Sit down before you hurt yourself, _muchacho_.” 

“Javier,” Hosea warns, “he’s not worth your time.” 

“Listen to papa, Javier.” Micah says, seeming to delight further in the glare Hosea gives him. 

“You ever gonna shut up?” Arthur finds himself saying. 

“Oh, Morgan!” Micah says. “Almost forgot you were even there.” 

“Why don’t you get and let the rest of us go back to enjoying our meal?”

Micah stands, lifting his arms in surrender. “Why, I was only trying to make conversation. Dutch says I should try to make friends with all of you.” 

“Well maybe you oughta try harder.” Lenny says. “Or, better yet, stop trying at all.” 

Micah furrows his brows in Lenny’s direction. “I wasn’t talking to you, n-,” 

“Finish that word, Micah.” Arthur interrupts, stepping forward. “I _dare_ you.” 

He doesn’t, and instead seemingly shrinks into himself, muttering as he stomps away from the fire. 

“Thanks.” Lenny says. 

Arthur hums. 

“I think I’m done for the evening.” 

He hears murmurs of agreement, Sean stamping out the fire, Javier picking up his bowl, and Hosea checking the time on his pocketwatch. 

And as Arthur sleeps tonight, he tries his damnedest to ignore Micah’s grating voice in his head, saying the most foolish things. But as that nasty voice in his head - “you’re a fool, Arthur, can’t call yourself a man, let alone a good one” - starts to sound more and more like Micah, Arthur only finds himself more and more confused. And, what kills him most, more and more ashamed. 

\- ❦ - 

_I been thinking about Mary again. I’m always thinking about Mary, in some way or another. If she’d think the flowers I helped pick with Jack were pretty. If she’d think the jokes I told to Charles and Hosea over the fire were funny. If she’d think I looked handsome or foolish in that fancy get-up for Bronte’s party. _

_I saw her off that day and I don’t know if I’ll ever see her again. Perhaps it’s best. She can finally move on, remarry a better man or at least stop fretting over a worn-out criminal who’s got one foot in the grave already. _

_And I guess I’m real confused. How can I be feeling this way about Mary when I’ve been <strike>wondering about men</strike> <strike>thinking the same things about men</strike> having thoughts that I shouldn’t. About things that I shouldn’t want. _

_Maybe it’s just the stress. I haven’t gone home with a lady in quite some time. The others have women or go out and buy a girl for the night. I haven’t - I can’t. Not with Mary, <strike>not with these thoughts</strike>. Bill’s told me about times in the army - when he was so drunk I doubt he knew his name - where he and the other soldiers “got rid of stress” together. _

_He threw up and tripped down the steps soon after so I didn’t have to worry about what to say. Which was fortunate because I didn’t know what to say. I still don’t. _

_How can I even entertain those kinds of thoughts?_

Arthur shuts his journal with a sigh, dragging his hand down his face. He tosses the journal onto his pillow and runs his fingers through his hair. It was getting long. 

With a hum he reached for his scissors and shaving kit, pulling the mirror closer to himself. He followed his usual routine, snipping away the lengthier strands like Hosea had taught him long ago. When he could feel the cool air on the back of his neck, he stopped, changing the scissors for his razor. 

Just as he was drawing close to his chin, a sudden shout startled him. 

“Hey Arthur!”

“Ah damn it!” He yelled, the razor slicing straight through his skin. He saw the blood start to pool, adding to the ridiculousness of his unfinished shave. He put down the razor and reached for a towel, holding it to his chin. 

He grumbled to himself as he stalked over to his window, ready to give the culprit a piece of his mind. 

He was greeted to the sight of Sadie staring up at him, shotgun in hand. 

He felt the frustration slowly fade but with the cut still fresh, he shot her a glare. “Yes, Sadie, what is it?”

“Is that anyway to talk to a woman?” She shot back, Arthur hearing the grin in her voice more than he saw it.

“To one that just violently interrupted my shave? Yeah, I reckon it is.” 

She laughs, voice cracking. 

“Oh, my bad then,” she says, not sounding the least apologetic. “How about you let me make it up to you?” 

Arthur raises an eyebrow. “Oh yeah? How’s that?” 

“Well why don’t you come down and I’ll tell you. After you finish that shave, of course.” She says. “Oh, and do make sure you bring your rifle.” 

He rolls his eyes and sits down to finish his shave. “I’m sure she’ll be making it up to me, alright.” He mumbles. “A couple bullet holes make for a great apology.” 

After cleaning himself up, Arthur slips his hat on and grabs his rifle as requested. He greets Abigail and Jack as he walks down the stairs, giving a nod to a frowning Molly in the living room. Sadie is impatiently waiting on the porch, jumping to her feet once Arthur steps outside. 

“Took you long enough.” 

Arthur chuckles back in response. “You know, I think it’s usually the other way ‘round. The man waits on the woman to take forever getting dolled up.” 

“Never was one for getting dolled up.” Sadie says with a smirk. 

“No I don’t imagine you were, _Mrs. Adler_.” 

“Well, _Mr. Morgan_, if you really want to be the gentleman, I could use an escort. I’ve got a date with an O’Driscoll just outside of town.” 

Arthur huffs. “Of course you do. Do I even want to know how you came by this ‘date’?” 

They begin walking, Sadie leading them towards one of the wagons. “Probably not. The informant’s reliable and he’s gonna lead us to some O’Driscolls. Ain’t that enough?” 

“I s’pose. Can’t help wondering why we’re talking this hulking thing instead of our horses, though.”

They hoist themselves on top of the cart, Arthur handling the reins. 

“It’s because the O’Driscolls are in the smuggling business and are waiting to prey on any innocent passersby with decent enough carts.” 

“So you’re making us bait?” Arthur clarifies. 

“Just follow the road out past Calliga Hill.” Sadie answers him with a hum. “Speaking of which, might want to keep that rifle concealed. I think it’s best if we can stop the wagon and use it as cover when they ambush us.” 

Arthur laughs. “Woman, you are crazy.”

“Maybe,” Sadie says, “but if fighting dirty and crazy works for them it’ll work for us.” 

“They’ve also got more than twice our men to throw at a problem.” 

“Have some faith, Arthur. We’ve got the greatest sharpshooter this side of the Grizzlies with us.” Sadie grins, eyes on Arthur. “Oh and you coming along oughta help, too.” 

Arthur laughs something fierce. “You’re mighty funny, Sadie. Mighty funny.” 

“You dullards need some humor in your lives from time to time.” Sadie says, moving her eyes to the road. “While you’re off on those adventures of yours, camp can feel real _off_. Like you’re just waiting for the next fight to break out.” 

“That’s why I like those adventures of mine. Keeps me away from likes of Bill.” _And Micah_, goes without saying.

“Then maybe I oughta hop on Bob and join you from time to time.” 

Arthur hums. “Maybe you oughta. From time to time - I do still like my solitude.” 

“Oh I wouldn’t dare ruin your alone time, lone wolf.” Sadie says, giving a nod to another cart passing them on the road. “God knows what you keep locked up in that skull of yours.” 

“Hey!” Arthur huffs. “‘_Lone wolf._’” 

“Well it’s true! Must have been quite a catch with the ladies in the day.” 

He hears her fail to muffle a laugh. “I’m only in my thirties, missy. I dare say you ain’t much younger than me.” 

“You dare _not_. It’s rude to guess a lady’s age, Arthur.” Sadie says, failing to sound agitated. 

“Ahuh.” When a silence falls between them Arthur shifts uncomfortably in his seat. “You know, I was engaged once.” 

Sadie doesn’t say anything but tilts her head towards him. 

“It didn’t work out. Her daddy wasn’t keen on my line of work, thought I’d ruin his daughter or get her killed.” He huffs with no hint of humor. “He was probably right. Don’t mean he wasn’t a real sonuvabitch.” 

“What was her name?” Sadie asks, suddenly solemn. 

“Mary. Mary Gillis.” Arthur sighs. “Well, Mary Linton now. Even though she’s been a widow.” 

“I’m sorry, Arthur.” 

He shrugs. “It was for the best, I suppose. Was a father once, too.” 

Sadie’s eyebrows raise. 

“Don’t like to talk about it.” 

“I understand.” Sadie nods. 

A silence falls between them again. The two watch a doe and her fawn cross the road, the mother nudging the young as it struggles off the path. 

“Jake and I tried many times. He wanted a lot of kids. I always disagreed. The man wouldn’t be the one carrying them.” 

Arthur laughs and Sadie gives him a smile. 

“We tried but nothing ever happened. We thought about seeing a doctor about it but what could he do?” Arthur watches at her, sees a distant look in her eyes. “We decided it wasn’t meant to be. Just us on the ranch. We could be content.” 

She sighs. “Could have been content.” 

Arthur knows any sympathies would ring hollow so he simply looks forward, guiding the horses. He listens to the rattle of the wooden wheels, the crack and crunch of the rocks and dirt against them. He watches the horses snort, flicking their ears to the newest noise - a bird overhead, a deer in the woods, a wagon in the distance. 

They near an opening and Arthur’s hackles rise. They should be approaching the ambush site soon. When Sadie had mentioned using the wagon as cover he didn’t think it would be their _only_ cover. 

“I think I see one of ‘em in the distance. You got your binoculars?” Sadie asks. Arthur tilts his head towards his satchel. Sadie pulls them from the bag and looks out to a hill with a single tree. “Yeah, it’s an O’Driscoll alright.” 

“This was your mission.” Arthur looks to her. “How are we doing this?” 

“Pull the cart up at the base of that hill.” He hears Sadie pull her pistol from its holster, loading bullets into the cylinder. “I wanna have a few words.” 

When the dust settles and sixteen O’Driscolls lay dead, a large stash of money and goods in their wagon, with Arthur and Sadie nursing their wounds - a bruised rib and a cut cheek respectively - he decides a little insanity may be just what they need. 

\- ❦ - 

_Saw Albert again. Bored of fighting animals, he tried to fight gravity. Again, he somehow survived. I hope he will now retire from a life even more idiotic and dangerous than mine._

_I hope the man will keep himself safe. Damn my own troubles, I do care for the man - even if I don’t quite know what that means. _

_I thought of saying something to him, after I pulled him up from that cliff. Didn’t. Don’t know if I regret it yet. _

_Maybe I’ll see him again someday. Maybe then I’ll have an idea of what to say. _

Arthur exhales, slowly closing his journal and slipping it into his satchel. He walks away from the pillar he was leaning on, stepping down from the porch and joining the group waiting in line for lunch from Pearson. 

“Calm down the lot of you!” Pearson yells, his hand a blur as he chops away at a carrot. “Not like any of you care to help me.” He mumbles the last bit, glancing off towards Sadie who is leaning against a tree, eyes watching the bayou. 

Arthur sighs and leans against Pearson’s cart. “What you need, you old grouch?” 

“Arthur! Can you grab that deer leg from the back of my cart? I’ll get the stew going.” 

Arthur walks behind the cart and unhooks the skinned meat, carrying it back to Pearson’s table by its hoof. 

“You sure this thing is safe to eat?”

“Please, I know how to cure meat.” Pearson chuckles. “If I didn’t, you’d all be long dead by now.” 

Pearson gathers the remnants of the carrots and tosses them into the pot, each slowly sinking into the broth. He points to the beets sitting atop one of the crates and Arthur obeys, grabbing them by their stems. 

“You serious about helping?” 

Arthur nods. “I ain’t got much to do today.”

Pearson gives a smile. “Alright then. You prefer cutting the meat or the beets?” 

Arthur grabs a knife impaled in the wood of the table. “I’ll handle the meat. Vegetables never were my thing.” 

Pearson nods and gathers the beets together, slicing their stems. “You know vegetables are just as important as your meats, Arthur. Good greens will have you heartier than a stag.” 

Arthur laughs. “Oh I know. If I had a penny for every time Hosea told me about ginseng, we wouldn’t be needing to worry about money no more.” 

“Wouldn’t that be nice.” Pearson chuckles. “You know, I hear they got some interesting fruits in those tropical islands. I bet they’d make for a great treat.” 

“I’m sure that’s at the top of the list for Dutch.” Arthur humors him. “Right before ‘escaping the Pinkertons’ and ‘starting a new life.’”

Pearson shakes his head. “You’re a cruel man, Arthur Morgan.” 

“So I’ve been told.”

They work together, ignoring the grumbles from the impatient mass waiting for food. Arthur hasn’t cooked much before, hasn’t needed to besides the odd game meat while on his own, and finds it’s not as easy as he expected. Despite his familiarity with knives he nearly slices his hand more than once, Pearson tut-tutting him. 

He strips the fat as best he can, cutting the meat into manageable cubes. Once the leg is nothing but bone and scraps, he whistles for Cain. 

The dog comes trotting over, wagging his tail at the sight. Arthur tosses him the leg, reaching down to pat the dog on the head. He grimaces when he realizes too late his hand his dirty, seeing the blood coat the dog’s head. 

“Ah shit.” He mumbles. 

“Nice going.” Pearson says, throwing him a rag as he gathers the meat to cook over the fire.

Arthur grumbles and wipes his hands, cleaning them of any muck. 

“The stew will be another half hour so stop your complaining and do something useful!” Pearson yells, earning a sea of groans in response. “Quit your whining! Food’ll taste better on an empty stomach.” 

Arthur returns the rag to Pearson’s cart, tying it around a railing. 

“Thanks Arthur.” Pearson says quietly once the crowd dispersed. 

Arthur nods. “It’s no problem.” 

“I’ll be sure to give you the best helping.” 

Arthur chuckles. “Knowing that I helped make that stew? Maybe I’ll miss the meal today.” Pearson gives a hearty laugh. 

Arthur steps away from the cart, slipping his hands into his pockets. He walks through the yard, watching the various water fowl along the swamp. 

He stops by a tree to watch a heron land on a post in the distance. The bird scans the water, darting its long neck to catch a small fish. 

Arthur quickly pulls his notebook and pencil from his satchel and begins a light sketch. 

The heron doesn’t leave - it waits for another ripple in the water before it snags another fish. 

Arthur pencils the bird’s feathers, narrowing his eyes to garner more detail. Just as he close to finishing drawing the bend of its legs, he spots a peculiar ripple only mere feet away from the heron. 

What he previously thought was any other log _blinks_. 

He watches in shock as the heron continues its hunt, seemingly clueless to the alligator preying on it. 

“No shit.” He mumbles to himself in a daze. He quickly snaps out of it and begins drawing an alligator’s head next to the heron. 

The heron snags one last fish before tilting its head in the direction of the alligator. It gradually unfurls its wings, slowly extending its neck towards it. 

The bird is painstakingly slow during its investigation but as his beak touches the water, it’s over before Arthur knows it. 

There’s a flash of white and a massive splash of water as the alligator lunges, slamming its massive maw over the heron’s body. He hears frantic squawks and thrashing as the alligator sinks back underwater with his meal before silence falls once more. 

“Well I’ll be damned.” Arthur hums, smiling to himself as he draws a cartoonish gator burping up a feather, captioning it: ‘_guess curiosity killed more than the cat_.’

“I think I’m not so hungry anymore.” 

Arthur looks to his right and sees Tilly with a perturbed expression. She’s looking out to where the heron used to be perched. 

“You see all that, Miss Jackson?” 

“That I did.” She nods. “Though maybe I wish I hadn’t.” 

Arthur chuckles. “That’s nature for you. I thought it was pretty interesting.” 

“Oh it was,” Tilly says, “and I’m awfully grateful that gator is content with eating birds. He better stay the hell away from camp.” 

“Why?” Arthur asks with a smile. “Worry you’ll have to fight him in line to get some stew?” 

Tilly laughs, her eyes crinkling. “Wouldn’t that be something. I would love to see Bill take him on.” 

“You mean you’d love to see Bill get swallowed whole by it.” 

“As big as that gator’s mouth is, I still don’t think it’d be enough for Bill.” 

Arthur laughs heartily, Tilly quickly scanning the camp to see if Bill was nearby. 

“You’re safe, my dear.” Arthur says. “Bill wouldn’t pick a fight with me around.”

Tilly smiles. “Oh Arthur. You’re every lady’s knight in shining armor.” 

He smiles back. “I ain’t so sure about that but. . .I appreciate it.” 

Tilly tilts her head suddenly, studying Arthur’s face. He raises his eyebrows.

“Is everything okay?” 

“I don’t know.” Tilly says, head still tilted. “You’ve just seemed a bit preoccupied lately.” 

“You women really are psychics, you know that?” 

Tilly rolls her eyes but furrows her brows as she adopts a concerned look. “Are you alright Arthur? It’s been a while since we sat down and had a chat.” 

Arthur shrugs. “I guess it has been.”

“That didn’t really answer my question, though.” 

“I, uh. . .I ain’t really sure what the answer is. I’ve been getting on fine. Been trying to push past those things we talked about before.”

“So they ain’t what’s been bothering you?” 

“Well, no, but-“ he gives an exasperated sigh. “I’ve been thinking about something that I ain’t ever thought about before. Seeing things differently than I used to, I guess.”

“How so?” 

Arthur pauses to look around them. They are far enough from the rest of the group, secluded as much as they can be along the tree line. 

“I’ve been seeing. . .some _people_ differently than I used to.” 

Tilly frowns. She looks confused and maybe a bit worried. “Some people as in. . .”

Arthur’s eyebrows shoot up. “Oh, no, nothing bad. I’ve just been. . .” He raises his hand to pinch his nose. When he brings it down he is greeted by Tilly looking on expectantly.

“I been feeling things that maybe I never noticed before.” He can’t help it, his eyes find Charles in the distance, chopping firewood for the group. 

He must not be as subtle as he hoped, for as soon as he met Tilly’s eyes again, they’re wide. 

Her expression makes Arthur panicked. His own eyes must be the size of saucers as he uncomfortably tugs at his neckerchief. 

“I - uh - ah -“ 

She calms herself, clearing her throat. “Don’t - don’t be scared, Arthur. I ain’t gonna tell nobody.” 

He still feels anxious, shoulders tense, but he exhales in relief. 

He struggles to maintain eye contact, his eyes darting between the murky bayou water to his left and the chipping paint of the house to his right. He sees Tilly fiddling with the corner of her blouse in the corner of his eyes. 

She breaths out heavily and lifts her head up. 

“It may sound crazy, Arthur.” She pauses, pursing her lips and looking out into the cattails and milkweed. “But maybe I know what you’re going through.” 

He feels it is his turn to look shocked, unable to stop his jaw from dropping - just a little, but just enough for Tilly to flinch. 

“I-I’m sorry, Tilly,” he says quickly, lifting his hands to reassure her. “I didn’t meant to. . .I guess I wasn’t expecting that.” 

She laughs though it rings hollow. “Well that makes two of us.” 

“You just seem. . .”

He doesn’t finish but Tilly seems to understand anyway. 

“Well so do you.” 

He nods, dropping his head to the ground and gripping his belt. “Yeah. Yeah.” 

“If you ever-,” 

“Alright! Alright! It’s ready!” Pearson yells, cheers and whoops echoing around them as they all clamber back in line. 

Arthur gestures to the line. Tilly nods.

“I know.” Arthur says. “And, so you know. . .I’m here, too. If-if you ever need. . .”

She smiles, small and delicate. “I know.” 

\- ❦ - 

The muck splatters across Arthur’s face as he is flung to the ground. He prays it is only mud. 

He hears the gruff voice behind him laugh and struggles to his knees. Before he can stand, a heavy kick knocks the wind out of him, sending him back to the ground. 

Arthur clutches his side with a hiss and rolls over to his back. The man - tall and well-built balding white man with a thick beard, tattoos extending from his hands to his neck - grins as he places his shoe on Arthur’s chest. 

“Giving up that easy, little man?” Arthur would laugh if the man wasn’t close to 7 feet tall - that and if he even could with the boot squeezing air out of his lungs. 

Arthur wanted to offer an insult but before he could speak, he hears a familiar grunt from behind the man.

“I believe the saying is ‘pick on someone your own size?’” Before the man has time to turn around, a fist is colliding with his temple, sending him spiraling into the dirt alongside Arthur. 

Charles is extending his arm to Arthur, a little worn from the fight himself. Arthur takes it and gets to his feet as quick as he can. 

The man is trying to get to his feet, grin replaced with a snarl. “Bastard. You’re gonna pay for that.” 

Charles lifts his arms, ready to block, and Arthur mirrors him. 

“Jasper! Get over here!” 

Another man - just as burly but closer to Arthur’s height - steps away from the horses he was tending to. 

The man - Jasper - grunts in response.

“These two are giving me trouble. Help me remind ‘em who owns Van Horn, yeah?” 

Jasper grunts again, rolling up his sleeves. 

“Arthur,” Charles sighs, putting his back to his, “What have you gotten us into?” 

“They started it.” 

He hears the first man yell as he charges at Charles. Before he can look and see, Jasper is delivering a blow to his gut. Arthur hisses through his teeth as he feels the air leave his lungs for a second time. 

Arthur responds with a right hook to Jasper’s jaw. Jasper reels back, shaking his head. Using his daze to his advantage, Arthur throws another punch with his left hand, clocking Jasper in the temple. 

Jasper grunts and parries another blow - this one aimed for his nose - with an uppercut. 

Arthur groans as he sees stars. Hands grip his shirt and Arthur is overcome with vertigo as he is thrown to the ground. 

This time his back lands on something sharp - rock, likely - and Arthur rolls his eyes. “Oh give me. . .a break. . .” He grunts out.

He throws his arms up over his face in a block, successfully avoiding another punch to the face. 

Jasper chuckles. “Pretty boy protecting his pretty face.” Instead of trying to break Arthur’s block, Jasper delivers a series of jabs to his sides in quick succession. 

Puffs escape Arthur as he tries to talk. “Pretty boy?!” He grits his teeth as his sides ache more and more. “I ain’t no pretty boy!” 

Jasper is laughing loudly, deriving joy from Arthur’s pain. Seeing an opening, Arthur drops his block to grab him by the neck. 

Jasper’s punches quickly stop as his eyes widen, clutching at Arthur’s wrists. Arthur squeezes his neck, lifting himself off the ground as Jasper struggles to fight back. 

Now sitting upright, Arthur flips Jasper onto the ground, never once breaking the hold he has on the man’s throat. 

Jasper is squirming, failing to make any coherent sounds. 

The red of his face bleeds into blue, his eyes bulging out of his sockets. Arthur slams his head against the dirt. He feels hands frantically slapping his back. Jasper is flailing and Arthur can feel his life start to slip away underneath his hands. 

“Arthur!” 

Arthur looks to Charles but doesn’t relent. 

Charles is looking at him with wide eyes, darting between him and the man dying beneath him. His hair is tousled and his fists are clenched at his sides. The man he fought lays a few feet away, defeated but not unmoving - slow groans escape him. 

When Arthur maintains his grip, Charles storms over to him. A strong hand claps his shoulder.

“Arthur, that’s enough.” 

Arthur looks to Jasper. Tough. Panicked. Young. Younger than Arthur, at least. 

He slackens, removing his hands from his neck. 

Jasper’s head falls to the dirt and his chest rises dramatically as he draws a long breath. Short, raspy noises leave him as he desperately draws more. 

“We need to leave.” Charles tugs Arthur’s shoulder and he obeys, getting to his feet. 

They jog to their horses, unhitching them from a post. Charles mounts Taima, Arthur his own, and they begin a quick canter away from the saloon. 

They pick up speed out of town, horses breaking out into a gallop as they meet the setting sun across the hills. Charles strays off the path, Arthur following him. 

Arthur wipes some of the mud from his face with his wrist, finding a bit of blood mixing with the brown. He can feel the telltale signs of a bruise beginning to form in his right eye. 

He clears his throat, making sure it can be heard over the whinnies of the horses and the pounding of their hooves. 

“I, uh,” he tries, “thank you. For saving my neck back there.” 

When Charles merely grunts in return, Arthur frowns. 

He feels like a child waiting to be scolded. “_That was foolish, Arthur_,” he’ll say. To which Arthur will respond: “_Ah I know. I had to bad mouth the drunk seven foot veteran._” 

Charles doesn’t humor him, though, and it makes Arthur anxious. They continue riding in silence and it’s not comfortable, like it usually is with Charles. He wants to say something, to fill the silence between them, but he’s not sure _what_ to say. 

He supposes Charles has always been rather quiet. Kept to himself, man of few words. Arthur liked to think Charles made him an exception, though. He had taught him how to hunt, told him about his family, after all. 

Arthur tries to clear his throat again to ignite conversation but his body is overcome with coughs. There is a sharp pain in his chest and his body feels weary, ready to give under a single nasty cough. 

The coughs have become more frequent. They’ve started to pain him, annoy him, _scare_ him. He’s never had a cold last this long before. 

When he raises a fist to cover his mouth he sees Charles glance at him in the corner of his eye. 

His eyebrows are furrowed and he’s frowning. 

Arthur raises his other hand to wave him off but another spasm of coughs wrack his body. He has to drop his arm to grip the reins or he fears he might fall off his horse. 

Charles slows his horse, gradually coming to stop. He reaches for Arthur’s reins and pulls his horse closer, slowing him down as well. 

With them stopped, Arthur’s body finally regains control of itself. He lets out one final puff of a cough before he clears his throat. He dare not check his hands - any blood on them had to come from the fight. They had to. 

“You alright?” 

Arthur nods. “Yeah I. . .” He waits for another cough to interrupt him. When none comes, he allows himself to continue. “I s’pose I haven’t been feeling the best lately.” 

Charles doesn’t say anything but Arthur’s known him long enough to know what the look he’s giving him means. 

“I’m sure I’m alright. Just a bit under the weather, I guess.” 

“Ahuh.” Charles answers, not bothering to hide his skepticism. 

“I’m alright, Charles.” Arthur says and he’s not sure who he’s trying to convince more. “I’ll take a little rest back at Shady Belle and everything will be back to normal.” 

“Is getting into bar fights your normal?” 

Arthur’s not sure he likes Charles tone. He furrows his brows. 

“We’re outlaws. That wasn’t our first bar fight.” 

“No.” 

Arthur frowns. 

“If I recall, _you_ were apart of that little brawl Bill started in Valentine.” 

“Exactly. The brawl _Bill_ started.” 

Arthur huffed. “Listen, Charles, I trust you to be honest with me. If you wanna speak your mind, do it already.” 

“You’re supposed to be the level-headed one, Arthur. Getting into a fight with a random drunk doesn’t sound like you.” Charles says, keeping eye contact the whole time. “I probably wouldn’t believe it if I hadn’t witnessed the whole thing first hand.” 

“Well then you _saw_ the whole thing. He had it coming.” 

Charles frowns. “And why did he have it coming again?” 

Arthur suddenly feels very uncomfortable. Dread starts to pool in the pit of his stomach. He swallows. “You heard him. I was tired of hearing him run his mouth.” 

“I did hear him. I heard him say many things. Things that never seemed to bother you before.” 

Arthur has no response for Charles. 

“We’ve both heard Micah say much worse.” Even at the sound of his name, Arthur can’t stop his lips from forming a snarl. “So why is it you picked a fight with him? A man I don’t think you even know the name of.” 

He looks away, staring into the sun before his eyes burn and he is forced to look back at the ground. Arthur regrets complaining about the silence. It’s all he wants right now. Some peace and quiet. 

“Arthur.” 

He sighs and meets Charles’s gaze again. 

“Whatever you may feel or think you feel. . .” Charles inhales through his nose. “You’re not alone.” 

“I. . .” 

He thinks of his talk with Tilly. 

“_It may sound crazy, Arthur. But maybe I know what you’re going through._” 

“I ain’t sure. . .I don’t like being confused, Charles.” He starts. “I know I ain’t the sharpest tool in the shed. I ain’t the planner, never was. I didn’t like when Dutch and Hosea got something that I didn’t.” 

He lets out a heavy sigh, his shoulders drooping with it. 

“I feel even more stupid now. I _should_ know this.” 

“It’s not an easy thing to know.” Charles says. 

“Well I can’t help but feel foolish.” He laughs humorlessly. “I mean, how can I even think that. . .look at me, I’m not - I’m not like _that_.” 

“Like what?” Charles goads, knowing Arthur doesn’t have the strength to say it. 

“You know.” 

“Do I?” 

Arthur frowns. 

Charles sighs. 

It’s a game they play. 

“Come on.” Charles gives Arthur back his reins and tilts his head towards the nearest path. “It’s a bit of a ride back to camp from here. That gives us plenty of time to talk.” 

Arthur hums. “I don’t know if I like the sound of that.” 

“You won’t, at first.” Charles says, looking back at Arthur. “But it’s something you should hear.” 

Their horses reach the path, traveling at an even pace. At the rate they’re traveling, Arthur knows they’ll make it back well past dinner. 

“So what is this thing I should hear?” 

Charles looks pensive, eyes narrowed ahead. He relaxes and spares at glance at Arthur. 

“I told you I spent a lot of time on my own before I met all of you.” Arthur gives him a nod. “I drifted, from town to town. I met a lot of people. Killed a lot of people.” 

They both duck to dodge an overhanging branch. 

“I like my space.” Arthur can understand that sentiment. “But I don’t like being _alone_. At least, not completely.” 

“I don’t know if I catch your drift.” Arthur says. 

“We all need people, every once and a while. Sometimes a man needs a warm body to share his bedroll with.” 

“Ah.” Arthur can see where this was going but lets Charles continue. 

“That warm body wasn’t always a woman.” Charles shrugs. “I’ve never cared much what other people have thought of me. With my heritage, people think they already know me, know kind of person I’ll be. So I didn’t let _this_ bother me either.” 

“It can be a hard thing to wrap your head around. So, maybe, that’s why instead of thinking if you _should_, first ask yourself if you _do_.” 

“I. . .” Arthur stops himself, frowning. 

His mind starts to wander but he stops himself. Don’t think, just _feel_. God, he could laugh at the absurdity of it all.

“I guess I. . . I have had those kinds of thoughts. I never knew what to do with ‘em. It’s not like I could-“ 

He was doing it again. He sighs. 

“How- how did you know?” Arthur asks, looking to Charles. 

“For the short time I was with my mother’s tribe, I knew men who felt the way I did. Women, too. And people who weren’t either.” Charles hums. “They didn’t look at the world the way most do. Those people weren’t seen as unusual. They were like any other member of the tribe.” 

Charles shrugs. “I guess their views stuck with me. I didn’t think much of my attraction towards men because I hadn’t been taught to find anything wrong with it. It was just something I felt. A part of me.” 

Arthur chuffs, shaking his head. “That’s a mighty nice way of seeing things but ah, I’m afraid it doesn’t translate to the likes of me. My father wanted a man so he made sure to raise one.” 

Charles frowns and Arthur finds his neck and cheeks are suddenly warm. 

“I-I didn’t mean-,”

“What about your mother?” 

“Huh?” Arthur raises his eyebrows. “Oh, ah, I didn’t know her very well. She was a kind woman, too good for my father. I remember her loving me but. . .that’s about it.” 

“Dutch and Hosea raised you then?” 

Arthur purses his lips. “I was around fifteen when they found me. I was scrappy and dumb and got my ass beat more than I got what I was trying to steal. I was a fool and they taught me a lot but. . .” He lets the sentence die out, unsure of how to finish. 

“But your dad’s teachings had already left a mark?” Charles offers and Arthur nods. 

“Something like that.” He thinks of his father’s snarl, a man puffing out his chest with his hands on his hips, the scoffs he would give when Arthur came home with new cuts and bruises. He remembers the way his father would talk about others, the disdain and hatred. He remembers seeing his father beat a man to death in the street, fist still pounding after the body had gone limp and blood had soaked through his clothes. 

Almost like what Arthur had almost done to that man. 

“Like father like son.” He grumbles under his breath. 

“I don’t believe that.” Charles says.

Arthur perks up, sure he had said it too quiet for Charles to hear. “Huh?” 

“I don’t think we’re meant to become our fathers. I think we have a _choice_.” 

“A choice, huh.” Arthur scoffs. “I guess I’ve made all the bad ones.” 

“No.” Charles says with an air of finality. “I don’t think you have.”

The conversation doesn’t _feel_ finished but neither of them say anything more on their ride back to Shady Belle. 

Arthur has a hard time falling asleep that night. What finally coaxes him into slumber is the thought of the world Charles described: peace and unity and, oddly enough, love.

\- ❦ - 

Arthur’s felt the heat of the open plains and the humidity of the swamps. He thought he’d hated both. 

He still does, but not as much as the heat he feels now. The sand burns his feet as the water mocks him, creeping up on the shore. 

His head is still aching, his ears still ringing. His vision has cleared up over the past hour. He can now make sense of the horizon. 

It’s clear he’s on a beach somewhere. The problem is _where_. 

“I swear to God, Dutch, if you got us to Tahiti.” He mumbles, straining his eyes to look for any signs of civilization. He’s not sure how long it’s been since he woke. A few hours? 

By now he was expecting to see someone. Preferably one of his brothers over hostile locals, Dutch or Javier ideally. But now, with ankles aching and his skin burning, he’d be happy to see Bill or, fuck, even _Micah_. 

All he could do with his time was think. 

Arthur chuckles, his voice raspy and dry. 

“Never been particularly good at that.” 

He doesn’t want to think too much on his conversation with Charles. It means asking hard questions with unclear answers. 

But when the alternative means thinking of Hosea and Lenny, he’s grateful to have something to ruminate over. 

“This ain’t easy.” He mumbles, averting his gaze from the sun. His eyes ache and for the umpteenth time that day he debates simply closing his eyes and lying down the sand. “I’d sound stupid, talking about something like that at a time like this.” 

He coughs. 

“You’re losing it, Arthur. All alone, talking to yourself on a beach.” He spares a glance to the shore, hoping he’ll cool down just by watching the water. 

_“Perhaps wolves do better at sea? Are they good swimmers?” _Albert Mason’s frightened voice says to him. 

Arthur clutches his head. “Hearing voices, too? I’ve really gone mad, haven’t I?” 

He stumbles along, scanning the sand for any signs of footprints. All he sees are shattered shells and the small prints of sea fowl. 

“With my luck they’ll be some nasty beast on this island.” Arthur harrumphs. “And you’ll regret not being here to see it, Mr. Mason.” 

He feels a tingle in his throat and he finds himself coughing once more. He spits out into the sand, watching the waves steal away whatever ick was giving him trouble. 

“I’d probably have to save you from it so it’s probably best you ain’t here.” He chuckles. “Although you make for good company and Lord knows I could use some of that right now.” 

_“I’m good for laughing at, if nothing else.” _

“Nah that ain’t quite it.” He frowns. “Though it’d be easier if it was.” 

“_Still, I feel such a fool round you, sir._” 

“Heh, I imagine you do. Wonder if you knew how foolish I felt ‘round you.” Arthur wipes the sweat from his brow. “Ain’t something I’m used to. Or something I’m keen on.” 

His frown deepens. 

“Ain’t never been a fool ‘round men. I’m supposed to be tougher than ‘em. Supposed to make them look the fool.” 

Arthur looks into the horizon, wondering if Albert could sense his thoughts from miles away. 

“So why’re you different?”

“_I foresaw a many ignominious future for myself. . .”_

“Had to go and use those big words I’ve never been to good at.” Arthur laughs. “Usually I hate it when people do that. They love calling me stupid ‘cause I don’t have the seem university education as them. I know none of them would last a day in the wild, though.” 

“You should be the same. But you ain’t.” 

_“. . .but never damsel in distress_.” 

“And maybe that’s why.” 

Arthur frowns again. He knows his face must be creased with how often he’s been doing that. 

“Mr. Mason if you were a damsel this wouldn’t be so mighty confusing.” 

“Why would him being a damsel make this any different?” 

Arthur jerks his head around in surprise before realizing he’s alone, and the voice his head has concocted is Charles. 

“I’m having a hard enough go at this without you making things harder, Charles.” 

He hears Charles laugh and it’s startling how real it sounds. “You’re making this harder on yourself, Arthur.” 

“You don’t get it.” 

“Don’t I?” Charles answers back, his voice calm. “I thought I made it clear I knew exactly what this felt like.” 

“You don’t.” Arthur feels himself growing aggravated. “Least not the way I do.” 

“It’s not the same for everyone.” 

Arthur furrows his brows. “You met other people like that?” 

“Like what?” Charles goads. “Like _us_?” 

“Don’t.” He warns, clenching and unclenching his fist. 

“I’m sorry.” His apology is staggering and it takes Arthur a deep breath to remind himself this is all in his head. “But maybe this handholding isn’t the way for you to learn. Maybe you need a push.” 

“Or a smack to the head.”

He hears Charles chuckle again. “Maybe but not for this.” 

“This isn’t something I can just jump into.” Arthur says. “You asked me to think about how I felt to see if I even felt that way. But it ain’t easy to admit that I do feel that way.” 

“You just admitted it now.”

Arthur scoffs. “To no one. I’m here talking to _myself_.”

“You’re wrong.” Charles is adamant. “Admitting it to yourself is the hardest step. What others think comes second. What’s most important is what _you_ think.” 

“What do _I_ think?” 

“No jokes, no insults, no trying to change the subject this time.” Charles says firmly. 

“I think. . .” 

Arthur feels a tightness in his chest, wrapped and coiled so many times over. He feels heavy and ill, close to vomiting. He’s not so sure the discomfort is just from the heat anymore. 

“I think that I do feel that way. Not often. And it’s different than I’m used to.” He lets out a sigh. “But it’s there.”

The tension doesn’t leave him all at once but it begins to slowly dissipate. 

“I think I’ve been told to feel a certain way and I’ve never known there to be another way.” 

It’s like the coils are slowly being cut away. 

“I would get angry and uncomfortable when I saw men acting that way because. . . there was a possibility _I_ was that way.” 

Unraveled. 

“But I see now that I was foolish to think any less of them. And to think that I couldn’t be like them.” 

Piece by piece. 

“Because I am. Like them.” 

“And how are you like them?” He hears Charles ask.

“I. . . I find myself thinking of men the same way I think of women. I guess that’s not such a bad thing.” 

Arthur breathes and his chest isn’t so heavy this time. 

\- ❦ - 

Tuberculosis.

It certainly throws a wrench into his plans.

Arthur sits on a bench, not far from the doctor. He was supposed to meet with Sadie but he hasn’t found it in him to find her. 

This is something he can’t fight. 

No bullet, no punch, no drink will solve this one. 

He hears the horses pulling carriages clop along the cobblestone. 

“You’ve gotten yourself in a whole new mess, Arthur.” He mumbles to himself. 

His life had almost been taken from him so many times. Perhaps it was time it all finally caught up to him. 

“Count yourself lucky.” He says. “‘S not like Sean or Kieran or Hosea or Lenny can do the same.” 

A bell tower chimes a few streets down. 

He laughs morbidly.

“Guess I don’t have time to waste.” He stands too quickly, his vision going out of focus. He grabs his head and steadies himself. Composed, he sighs and walks forward. “Can’t keep Mrs. Adler waiting.” 

\- ❦ - 

Beaver Hollow doesn’t feel like home base to him. 

They’ve lost too many and those that remain are either itching to leave or ready to pick a fight. 

The uneasiness doesn’t sit right with Arthur. It’s why he makes sure to return often, to make his rounds and watch over those who need it and keep his eyes on those he has to. 

He’s leaning against a tree towards the outskirts, his back towards the camp. He can hear Micah rambling on about something with Dutch. 

Before, Arthur would be listening closely, ready to jump in when needed. Now he’s lucky enough to be able to tune him out. 

“How are you holding up?” 

He turns to the sound of the voice, watching as Charles approaches with his hands in his pockets. 

Arthur smiles and allows himself to drop his guard. 

“I’m as good as I can be, I guess. You?” 

Charles shrugs, sparing a glance back at camp. 

Arthur nods his head, understanding. 

“Caught a buck for Pearson this evening. He said he’s going to cook it up with some herbs he bought from town tonight.” 

“Mm. Making me hungry, I haven’t eaten since last night.” Arthur says. 

“Nothing at all?” Charles asks. “I’ve got some dried meats if you-,”

“Nah, I’m fine.” Arthur says. “I’ve got crackers and some candies Jack gave me. I just ain’t as keen on eating as I used to be.” 

“Ah.” Charles says, slowly nodding. 

It falls quiet between them as it usually does whenever the proverbial elephant enters the room. 

He’d only talked with Charles once about it. He hadn’t said any more that was needed: his days were numbered. 

The bright side was that he no longer had to worry about someone taking his food or drink. 

“Just keep going, Arthur.” Charles eventually says, squeezing his shoulder. “It’s all any of us can do.” 

“You know how things look here.” Arthur looks towards where Bill and Javier have gathered around Micah and Dutch. He keeps his gaze for as long as he can before looking back to Charles. “You don’t owe us anything.” 

Charles frowns.

“I owe _you_ a lot, Arthur.” 

Arthur chuckles. “Any debts you owed me were repaid when you made a habit of saving my ass.” 

“Maybe you’re right. But I’ll always be loyal to you, Arthur. I’ve got your back.” 

Arthur nods. “Ain’t nobody else I’d rather have at my side, Charles.” 

Charles opens his mouth before pausing. He steps back and crosses his arms. Arthur raises an eyebrow. 

“Something the matter?”

“It feels too late, I guess.” Charles says, his voice low. “I feel I should’ve acted sooner.” 

“Oh.” Arthur says because this time, he truly understands. 

He finds himself taking Charles’s hand and he could almost laugh at the look of surprise on his face when he intertwines their fingers. It’s delicate and intimate, something he used to do with Mary when she needed a small source of comfort. 

“You’ve got a future ahead of you, Charles.” He says. “Don’t let me take that away from you.” 

“Mm.” Charles looks unsure of himself. He glances back to camp. Certain no eyes are on them, he moves slowly towards Arthur. 

“Charles-,”

“I know.” 

He settles for placing his lips on Arthur’s cheek. 

It’s small, far from the passionate kisses he’s shared with women. It’s safe, to keep Charles from sharing in his curse. It’s subtle, something you’d miss if you blinked at the right moment.

It’s right, filling Arthur’s heart with a sense of security and belonging.

Charles pulls back and they’re both smiling. 

“I better go see if Pearson needs help.” Charles says.

Their hands separe themselves. 

“I understand.” Arthur nods. 

Charles turns slowly before walking towards Pearson’s table. 

Arthur watches him, still leaning on the tree, before he decides to pull his journal from his satchel. 

_Life is an odd thing. _

_It isn’t until Death is looming over me that I’ve really started to live. _ _All those years I spent taking and now I start to give?_

_Felt like a stupid confused kid my whole life. Dutch and Hosea taught me the best they could but lessons in crime don’t translate well to the issues I’ve been dealing with. _

_Don’t think there is anything I can learn to help me with what I’ve got. _ _I think it’s alright, though. I’m alright stumbling blind for once. _ _Every day could be my last. Might as well make the most of it. _

_Who knows? Maybe I’ll see if Mr. Mason is still around. _

**Author's Note:**

> Woof!!! Been working on this one for a while. Quite proud, to be honest. I feel like I did the characters justice. 
> 
> This was something I really wanted to do. A lot of works jump right into relationships without exploring how difficult internalized homophobia (or biphobia I guess?) is. I tried my best to use my own experiences as a lesbian and the experiences of my mlm friends to make it authentic. 
> 
> Hope everything felt right!


End file.
